Old Moon-face Woman
by Carly Cisco
Summary: It was sad. It was beautiful. WARNING: CONTAINS CHARACTER DEATHS AND ORIGINAL CHARACTERS.
1. Chapter 1

An old lady sits on top of the hill just above our Old Creek Mill cabin each afternoon. No one talks to her, and she doesn't talk to anyone either. She just sits there, watches us, not really saying a word. Some people say she's a witch or something that goes around and plays with voodoo. Other people say she's a widowed woman and that her husband was an Army veteran and was killed in the war. Other people, they shrug and say that she's a doctor who had lost her mind.

She climbs up the hill at around three in the afternoon, where she sits under a large oak tree on top of the hill and waits until it gets dark. Then, she would go down the hill and disappear under the cover of the thick trees that line across the creepy, dark forest. Kids call the forest the Demon's Woodland – and they feared it. Also one reason why they don't dare to check on the creepy woman.

I guess no one would really know, since no one ventured far enough to ask her and she doesn't even start a conversation with us. Her house is probably under the cover of the thick forest that indented the Gunnysack Lake, which is a small tributary lake that flows towards Big Lake. No one really knows how she feeds herself.

She earns a few bucks from the flowers she sells to the florist in the village. But the florist doesn't know anything about her either. She just says a few words of greeting, then bunks the baskets of beautiful flowers on the florist's table then takes the money and leaves.

I guess we all just lived on assumptions about her.

I moved in the place several months ago, during April, when my Mom walked out on my Dad and me, and then my Dad died in New York. I lived with my Uncle Bob, who looks after Northern Washington and Mount Baker National Park, just a few yards north of Demon's Woodland. I have met a few kids my age, most of them were going to the same school I go to – Old Creek High. A lot of these kids make up stories about the woman on top of the hill. For a small town, well, you always know about the gossip mill.

Melissa Blake, the Latina Old Creek High's head cheerleader, snorts across the table during lunch. I sit on the corner, just behind her back, enjoying my salami sandwich my uncle had made me. I heard her chortle loud enough, and her laughter was followed by her other cheerleader mates.

"I saw her in the cover of the shadows a few weeks ago, during the full moon. She's walking on Duvet street," Melissa Blake said in a creepy voice. "I swear I could hear her mumble something in another language...totally freaky."

"Hey, new girl..." someone from Melissa's table calls me. I turned around to see who's calling me. Ah, Judy Barnes, a blonde, blue-eyed girl that sits next to Melissa.

I cowered next to them. "Y-yes?"

Melissa eyes me sharply. "You're the new girl that lives near Demon's Woodland with Ranger Bob?" she curiously asks me.

I stammered. "Y-yeah...we...I just moved a few months ago."

Judy turns to me. "Heard the rumors well enough?" she sees me nod and she clicks her tongue. "Stay away from Old Moon-face Woman."

"Who?" I ask, although definitely I knew what she meant.

"You know who you need to stay away from," Melissa said harshly at me as the bell rung. They all scrammed up to get up and go to their classes. I was left to sit on the messy table. Seconds later, I also went to my own class – thinking about Old Moon-face Woman.

Classes went on, and rumors about the Old Moon-face Woman still milled around the school. Sometimes, the cheerleaders would share about the weird things the old lady has been doing. Old Woman this, Old Woman that – in fact, it was endless.

One time, Rudy Barnes, Judy's younger brother said that Old Moon-face Woman was on his balcony, reaching out to him, coaxing him to jump and go with her into Demon Woodland. Everyone seemed to believe him, because Rudy was a popular guy and popular guys are always listened to.

Parties are held, and I go to them, though I usually turn in earlier than anyone. Rumors mill around whenever a group of kids come around. At around the first week of October, one farmer turned up dead just south of Demon's Woodland. Although the doctor said it was an acute coronary attack that killed him while he was out in the pasture, the rumors that Old Moon-face Woman had killed him using spells and voodoo heightened to its prime.

Small town gossip goes around faster than a fire devours a dry wheat field.

I asked my uncle about the old woman that night and he just shrugged. It's something that's so unusual about Uncle Bob, because he knows so much about anything – except Old Moon-face Woman.

"I dun' know, Carly. Ne'er stops to chat or talk to anyone. Been here for four years already, but known nuthin' 'bout her, kid. Ask anyone 'bout her, not one soul'd know," Uncle Bob shrugged across the table as he devours his organic food and kale juice.

"D'ya think she killed the old guy 'cross town, Uncle?" I asked.

"Nah, kin't do such thing, kid," Uncle Bob smiled sadly. "Man died 'cause he did. Not some kin' of voodoo lounging around. Who'd put such ghoulish thoughts in ya' mind, huh?"

I shrugged. I think he knew the answer. He did. "Dun' lit them kids and them talkin' get to you kid."

That night, I looked out to Demon's Woodland and didn't see anything unnatural such as weird bonfires. I didn't hear anything abnormal like chanting or something. The leaves and the branches rattled across my window pane and I saw a light flicker from a distance – then it went off.

Old Moon-face Woman seemed to be sleeping tight in her bed already.

It wasn't until All Soul's Day that I actually had a chance to experience anything regarding Old Moon-face Woman. All day, it had been an overcast sky. Uncle Bob was busy rattling the window panes and the shutters in case a storm comes along because it looked like one was coming our way. He knocked into my door at around four in the afternoon and told me to walk the dog and get him to poop. I conceded heartily, since I'd love to take a walk, too.

"Dun' ya' try and lose that dog, ya' kid, or ya'll break y'er dear uncle's fragile heart. Be careful out tha'. Wolves are a'lurkin' 'round," he said as I unlatched the gate that wound up around the cabin. I just smiled at him in return.

Golden, Uncle Bob's dog was a grand old Alaskan elkhound with silvery-white hair. He's a good-shaped dog, too. We were a couple of yards away from cabin my Uncle and I shared and some yards from the first screen of trees that mark the entrance into Demon's Woodland.

Just thinking about the stories that lurk underneath the shadows of those trees made my stomach turn into knots and I kinda felt dizzy so I looked down. I saw my left shoe with its lace untied. Clutching at Golden's leash one last time and telling him to sit down, I let go of the leash and bent down to tie my shoe back.

And then Golden started barking and running at the same time. The leash went away from my hand's reach and all I see was this furry being, barking and running into the depths of Demon's Woodland. Without second thoughts, I ran after Golden.

"Golden!" I yelled across the trees. "Golden, come here boy!"

No one answered. Not even Golden's whimpers. I kept on walking. That, until I slipped on a tree root and I lost my balance and fell onto the ground and started rolling, and landed into a pit below, my left foot held by two other roots. I think I broke my left wrist.

I heard a howl that's definitely not Golden's.

I started to get scared. Wolves are no stranger to this woodlands. And Demon's Woodland or not, I am going to be a wolf pack's snack if I don't get out of here. "Help!" I started to yell. "Help! Uncle Bob! Help, somebody...help me!"

It was getting dark. Uncle Bob would've been worried sick by now. Still, I had to get out of these roots. The howls were becoming nearer and nearer. I whimpered. How many sixteen-year old kids have been devoured by wolves?

Until a shadow blocked my own view. Dear God, I just died. I thought. Or so I thought. I felt my left leg spring lose from the roots and I looked up to see who saved me.

Old Moon-face Woman. She's looking down on me. Her eyes were the darkest shades of brown and they looked like pieces of black pearls that line at Tiffany's in New York. Her face isn't that old. There are not much wrinkles in her face, but her eyes...there's a sadness lurking in them. There's something so sad about her that it radiates and all I can hear is my own screaming. I screamed because I was so scared and confused why she isn't taking my heart and guts out to offer to the Devil.

"I'm not going to hurt you," she croaked. "You're having wounds up on your arms. And your wrist is broken."

I screamed. "No...no, don't touch me!" I imagined all the nasty scenes in my mind, just like those in the Wrong Turn movies, where I'll get shot in the eyes and my blood is drained and stuff like that.

"You've been watching to many horror movies..." she mumbled and looked at me. "Come on, I'll help you. My name is Santana, by the way," she said, but she did not smile.

"Sa-" I tried to process it. "Yo-you're name...is Santana?" it came out as a squeak.

"Yeah," Santana said. "My house is up there, so can you walk or have you broken a leg, too?" she asked and she tried to help me walking by slinging my right arm on her shoulders. I am limping – must be a dislocated ankle.

"You might be having a dislocated ankle," she noted. "You must have had a pretty bad fall, huh?" she asked.

"Yeah," I answered, feeling rather – terrified.

"So, what brought you here in the woods? No one comes here," she asked, her face grave and serious. If there's one person who doesn't know how to smile – well, first prize goes to this Santana.

"My Uncle's dog...he ran into this way," I answered. "I chased after him."

"And you slipped and you fell?" she asked again, her gaze was stone-cold.

"Yeah."

"Bummer," she countered. After that, she didn't speak anymore. She just led me into the house that she had.

It was a cabin. A bungalow-type of cabin that had a deep, elevated porch. Several dreamcatchers hung around the windows and the entryways. The furniture was all wood, and so was the floor. There was a small wooden couch on the far end of the L-shaped porch. There were a lot of birds that were probably stuffed and preserved and a lot of skeletons hanging around. But the blinds were pulled down.

She flicked the light on and lit up the fireplace. Silently, I sat on another wooden couch, much bigger than the one outside when she rummaged through the kitchen for her first aid kit. I looked around the room and saw a small stairway that led to a loft just above half of the place. I could see that the loft's roof was glass.

She eyed me and just shook her head, silently. Then she put down a few first aid increments. A brown bandage roll, several securing pins, a bottle of sodium iodine solution, a blue bottle of hydrogen peroxide, and a roll of gauze cloth. She stood up to retrieve a pickle-jar of cotton balls sitting on the top cupboard of her kitchen.

Cautiously, I watched her from my stance. She stood up again and walked to the back of her kitchen, and I took my time to look around me. On the far side of the room, just behind the staircase was a desk. One could see that it was made out of teak wood. A teak wood straight-back chair was sitting behind it. On its far side, shelves and shelves of books were lined up. Most of them were too plaid and too brown for my liking.

She came back, bringing a basin of clear water and a clean wiping towel slung on her arm. She put it down on the low coffee table sitting next to me and started to roll up my torn sleeves and she washed my wounds and scratches – without a word.

While she was doing this, I chanced to look up at the small part of the house where a couple of pictures hung. There was one photograph, laden with a golden-brown frame with copper bands on the side was a picture of fifteen people, all lined up in three rows, smiling at the camera.

Five men stood on the topmost and first row, from the left side, one was wearing a dark-blue suit, his hair curly and his face a lot more mature than the others, next to him was an unfazed-looking Asian boy wearing a black tie underneath his blue suit. The other one, was wearing a red-and-blue checkered polo shirt, his bushy blonde hair hanging lose and his lips were overly large, but he was smiling at the camera with a doofus look on his face. The guy next to him looked like a giant compared to anyone. He wore a green hoodie, loosely opened and underneath his hoodie was a gray shirt that says: PROPERTY OF McKINLEY HIGH. He was sporting a lopsided smile. Next to him was a mohawked man who was lazily looking at the camera. The last on the row was a shiny, polished man wearing a tight-fitting red-and-white shirt and a red bow-tie.

On the second row, there were four girls and a lanky, shiny boy. From the left, one girl was a pudgy Black, standing next other was a blonde girl with pink wisps on the ends of her hair, wearing a yellow sundress topped with a see-through white blazer. The shiny cream-colored guy stood next to them. The two other girls, who were smiling at the camera next to the shiny boy was intimately close to each other. One was blonde and one was raven-haired. They were holding each other close and they were wearing cheerleader's uniforms marked with big, bold WMHS letters in striking red, with white outlines.

On the third row, from my left, all I see was a short ginger woman standing beside a paraplegic in wheelchairs and glasses. Next to him was a wide-smiling, beaky-nosed girl wearing her bangs across her eyes. She's probably the shortest of them, but she exudes this energy and happiness that's probably reaching her other companions next to the photograph. She was wearing argyles and to honestly say, I'd say she knocked the argyle look. Next to her was an Asian girl wearing a pink dress.

There's something about them.

I didn't realize that I was looking at the photograph, until Santana hit a sore spot in the cuts that made me whimper.

"Sorry," she apologized.

"It's fine," I said as she continued to wash my wound, but I could tell she's becoming a lot more careful than earlier. I roamed my eyes on her face, and then it hit me.

She's the raven-haired cheerleader in the picture.

I looked and saw the other pictures – there were just four of them, including the one I just saw. One was a photograph of three. It was a lot older compared to every photograph on the wall. In it was Santana and what seemed to be her family. A family of Hispanics.

The other photograph was the another picture of the blonde cheerleader and her, although in the photograph, they were not wearing any cheer uniforms, but she was wearing a black handkerchief on her head to tie up her raven-colored hair, and the blonde was wearing a green blouse. The blonde had her hair tied up into a bun, and they seemed to look so happy. The digital calendar behind their back told me that the year was 2012.

That year was just eleven years ago.

The other photograph was a picture of Santana and another blonde wearing a white apron under her red-clothed torso, with a tight short-sleeved red blouse, lined up with white buttons. A nameplate stood gloriously on her left side – Dani. Santana wore the same outfit, although she had the sleeveless one and she wore a nameplate, too. Her name was there.

In all those photographs that I saw, Santana seemed a lot younger, and I finally realized how beautiful she would have looked when she was smiling. Suddenly, there was an ache in my chest when I realized that ever since she had talked to me, she never smiled.

I realized that Santana was not an old woman after all. She was just a lonely, silent soul. Hungry for love and affection and understanding. And people around Old Creek Mills misconceived it.

"Hold out your broken wrist so I can put a splint on it," she said and I followed her.

"Who were those in the pictures?" I suddenly found myself asking and I can't help but to mentally slap myself because that must have sounded so rude.

"None that you knew, kid," she just replied. She had quickly fixed my arm and my leg and I am fine as new again in less than thirty minutes after she set me up. She stood up and washed the bloody cloth on the basin.

"Thank you," I stood up as I realized it was my cue to leave. "Thanks a lot, Santana."

She didn't answer. Instead, she just stood there, looking at me. I kinda felt that she didn't want people to know about our encounter. I feel a little awkward and queasy, but then again, I gathered my confidence and spoke to her. "I should be going now. I still have to look for Golden. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone."

She just stayed silent.

So I left her house that night. I left her house and she didn't even draw up one single blind to see if I was making the right way. I found my way home and I saw that Golden was waiting for me at the edge of the forest.

Uncle Bob wasn't there when I reached the house. He was in the Hayworth's hardware store, or as what his note on the fridge told me and that he's gonna be home by six-thirty in the evening.

When we sat to dinner that night, the rain was battering against the thick glass, I quickly told him my story, that was minus the trip that I made into Santana's house. Because for now, the knowledge I have about Santana felt like it was supposed to be my secret – my very own secret.


	2. Chapter 2

The harsh winter passed and the spring came again. I didn't see much of Santana, but sometimes, I pass by her, shoveling snows in the streets and sometimes, in the afternoons, I could see her climb up the hill and I would smile at her. Of course, she doesn't smile back.

Rumors about her still circulate around the school. Kimberly Fraser wrote and article about the 'old woman in Demon's Woodlands' and published it on the school paper. She said that the 'old woman' had made a pact with the Devil to collect a thousand souls so that she can get her true love. I'm pretty sure she's got it from the story of San Venganza in Texas. Or in the Ghost Rider movie.

My copy of the paper went into the trash bin no sooner than it felt the heat of my hands. Melissa Blake gave me a weird look when she saw me huffing as I threw the paper in the trash bin. "Wow, that's actually one way of treating the school paper."

"It's rubbish," I snapped quietly. She shut up after that. I hate Kim Fraser. She's a popular girl. She's cute and she had a pretty face, but she doesn't have a pretty heart. She's like, she had made it her mission to keep the rumor mill about Santana rolling.

The next string of rumors about 'Old Moon-face Woman' came up after the big spring rain that came into Old Creek Mill. The rains were hard and the rivers were swollen. A beaten Chevy washed up under the town bridge and in it was a dead body of a man and a woman, with a baby.

Everyone came to see the muddy car being pulled up by a crane and towed away from the bridge. It's been opened using a hydraulic jack and everyone sneered at the view inside. Although the cops didn't say that it was the woman who lives in Demon's Woodlands who killed the family and it was actually a family who was trapped in the car some towns over and was washed up on our shore, the event was enough to start the old rumor mill running again.

Kim Fraser wrote another issue in the school paper and again, the issue went into the trash bin. This time, she had another hunch that 'Old Moon-face Woman' is actually a witch that feeds off energy in the accidents and the killings that happen around town.

I mean, how long would people stay stupid? Santana is no murderer, let alone a witch. She's just a sad person, that's all.

Uncle Bob looked at me funny when I came in the cabin huffing. He smiled. "What's wrong, kid?"

"Nothing," I said. Maybe if he'll know about Santana, he would also like the other people in town who would just go on with their wrong thoughts. I don't want another person judging Santana like that.

"Well, ye kin't hide anythin' from me, y'know? I'll know it, sure," he chuckled. "We're gettin' some kale juice tonight and spruce tops."

I groaned at the mention of his food. I had to suck it up, though. I remembered that Melissa had invited me to her party on the weekend just before the Prom Week, so I decided to talk to my Uncle about it during dinner. Prom week is just a week away and I think I might be skipping it.

No one's asked me out yet for Prom.

"So ya think ya can handle a few pints?" he waddled a piece of spring onion at my face.

"Uncle, it's just a party...Mel doesn't even think there has to be any alcohol," I groaned. Was my Uncle teaching me how to drink? Jeez.

"Okay, fine. But you gotta turn in before one in the morning," he said as he stood up to retrieve the dishes. "And don't get too drunk."

So that's how I appeared in Melissa Blake's crashing party. Turned out that when she says it doesn't involve alcohol, she meant as it doesn't involve alcohol until nine in the evening. Kim Fraser was already drop-dead drunk on the other side of the room and most of the kids around me are swaying to the music. Rudy was sucking some girl's face from my class on the couch. Judy and Melissa were dry humping on the other side of the couch.

I hated to be the only one whose sober. So I downed three shots of whiskey before approaching some kids that lurked beside Kim Fraser. It was my mistake – I went to close to the blubbering girl.

"So, one time, I sat camping behind my backyard, a few summers ago," she stuttered as the group of kids turned to her. Suddenly, the party turned into one horror story telling. "I saw a black cat who pounce across the yard. The moon was full, but then a shadow of the cloud up ahead passed through. Then, when the cloud was gone and the moonlight stood again, the cat wasn't there anymore."

"A black cat means bad omen," a kid echoed from behind me and I shushed him.

"Instead, I saw Old Moon-face Woman...sitting on a branch...see the mulberry tree on our backyard?" Kim turned to a few kids, who nodded in agreement. She continued. "See the one that was crooked like a palm with five branches sprouting from it? She was sitting there. Old Moon-face Woman..." she stuttered. That was the end of her story. Surprisingly, a black cat was sitting just beside the hedge that separated Melissa's house from their neighbor's lawn.

"Oh my god!" one cheerleader yelled. "It's Old Moon-face Woman! She's spying on us!"

The drunk kids stumbled out into the yard and shooed the cat away. The cat hissed, after being threatened but one kid threw a can of Coke at it and it mewled and ran into the dark. The freckled-face ginger that threw the Coke pumped his hand into the air.

"I hit Old Moon-face Woman in the face!" he whooped, and then he was followed by the other kids, whooping around, until Miss Ramsey, the spinster who lived next to the Blakes shushed them and told them to scurry away before she throws boiling water at them and the kids stopped whooping.

I was upset. Not just what Kim told was all a hoax, but the black cat was Miss Ramsey's cat, whom she had named Orlando. God, people are such idiots. I looked at Mel and Judy. "Hey, I'm gonna be leaving."

"Leaving?" Mel said drunkenly. "I thought you're staying to get drunk?"

"I...I don't feel like it, Mel," I answered politely.

Judy looked at me worriedly. "Don't go, Old Moon-face Woman will get you and take your guts out!" she warned in a creepy voice. "She'll take your heart out and offer it to the Devil."

I sighed. This isn't a great conversation. I took a deep breath and laid a hand on Judy's shoulder. "Judy, what Kim said isn't true."

"How do you know?" Kim was drunkenly holding herself up against the door jamb of the room. "You don't know anything about her. You've been here less than a year and you come around bending what we believe in?" she asked, a challenging look upon her face.

I fixed my eyes on her. "You don't know anything about her either."

And then I left the party. I guess I have a lot of explaining to Mel and Judy on Monday, but who cares? I left because I hated that dumb party anyway. I started walking across the street, taking a look every now and then for muggers. There wasn't any.

Instead of taking the road that led to our cabin the shortest, I took the trail that went into the edge of the creek that once had the old mill. I stayed on its side, trekking along. The stars are actually out that night, and it kind of felt amazing to stand by the creek and look down at the water and see the stars.

It felt like you were actually looking down at the stars and they're almost in your reach.

"Don't reach it or you'll get disappointed..." a throaty croak said behind me. I jumped in fear as I saw someone watching me. Santana. Okay, it's scaring me now that it's late in the night and she's here. Maybe Kim was right.

"You'll get disappointed when you find out they're not there," she said sadly. Her face was so beautiful under the moonlight – even if she had a few years' worth of wrinkles running along her face. She strutted up to me.

"You were at a party," she noted as she tapped her finger on her chin. "You're not that drunk. What happened back there and you left early?"

"How do you know something happened back there?" I asked. Maybe I smelled with too much whiskey. Uncle Bob's gonna kill me.

"I know how it feels like to be seventeen," she said, her lips forming into a sad smile. Even when she smiles, it's a sad one. I don't think it counted into a smile at all.

"Sixteen," I corrected her. "Well, seventeen...in a few months," I shrugged. "And yeah. Something happened. What about you? What brought you here?"

She sat on one of those boulders and she patted the next one so I could sit next to her. She threw a pebble on the black water and it sent ripples across the old creek. The stars danced against the ripples.

"Too sad to stay in my house. Missing everyone and sometimes...it just hurts so I go outside," she said sadly, without looking at me. I just looked at her and she sighed. "You?"

I shrugged as I propped my legs over another boulder. "Just cooling my head off." She looked at me funny, but did not ask anymore. She then stood up and left me. I could see her silhouette get swallowed up by the dark shadows of the trees of Demon's Woodland.

The next day, I woke up with a headache. Uncle Bob has left me two tablets of Advil and a note that he's left for Mount Rainier and that he'd be home by afternoon. Without anything to do, I decided to go and venture out to Demon's Woodland by myself.

I set out at around nine in the morning and Melissa pounced on me. "What are you doing?" she asked. She looked pretty well and good. I don't know but she was pretty wasted last night, but here she is, standing like she wasn't drunk the night before.

"Are you really thinking of going into Demon's Woodland?" she asked with a horrified look in her face.

I felt mortified. I shook my head wildly and looked at her. "No. I'm just about to call Golden out for a walk."

I whistled to the dog and he dutifully walked by my side. "You wanna walk to Judy's place?" I asked and Melissa grinned.

"Sure!" she looped her arms around mine and we went off to the Barnes' residence. I had to sit beside Rudy and play videogames till my hands ached. Judy's mom actually called up my Uncle and he was pretty happy I 'spent my day in at least a normal way'.

God, I could have known more about Santana today. I grumbled under my breath, only to be swallowed by Melissa and Judy's cackles of laughter. I wonder if they were going out together. When the afternoon came, I bid Judy goodbye, and so did Melissa. We walked together on the same trail we've left for in the morning and I chanced to look up. I saw Santana sitting on the hill, underneath the large oak tree.

As I tried to muster a covert smile at Santana, Melissa shook me wildly. "Don't look at her," she hissed and literally dragged me home as she ran.

"Why are you so scared of her?" I asked as she we reached the shelter of our cabin. "I mean, Mel, the person did not do anything!"

It actually took her a few seconds of blinking at me before she actually talked to me. "Why are you yelling at me like that?" she hoarsely croaked.

I realized I was unnecessarily yelling at her for no reason. I was just angry at her, at everyone who had mistaken Santana for a bad person.

"I'm...I'm sorry," I apologized. "I'm just...carried away, I guess. I mean, in my old school, my family split and I kinda was in the position where people make up stories about you, you know? And they're all wrong..." I trailed off.

"If the stories made up by people about her were wrong, why'd she let it go around and she's not doing anything to stop it?" she asked at me, her eyebrow a little quirked up. Then she left without a word.

"I'm sorry if I felt empathy for her!" I yelled as Mel's shadow retreated into the distance. I wondered if what I did was wrong or right. My thoughts were only disturbed by the incessant ringing of the phone, so I picked it up.

It was Uncle Bob, calling that he might not be able to make it tonight and that he'd be home by morning or noon the next day. I cursed under my breath. I don't want to spend my night alone. It's going to be my first night alone in these cabin.

Maybe it's my big chance to know anything about Santana. So, I cooked mac 'n cheese for dinner. Thank God, Uncle Bob had left a ration of those things in the top cupboard. I made it two packs of macaroni in case if Santana would like to share. I carried it in a Pyrex dish and I carefully trudged the slippery trail towards the middle of Demon's Woodland.

I knocked on Santana's door. There was a low light from the inside. Judging from the light, it's the light from the fireplace and it seemed to be the only source of light in the room. No one answered me.

So I knocked again.

No one answered. The blinds were down and Golden was scratching the door like he was crazy. I knocked again, and the door unlocked. Out came Santana, her eyes tired and her hair a mess.

"Hey," I greeted and a puff of white vapor went out of my mouth. "I was wondering if...if I could share my dinner with you?"

She didn't say a word for a long time. But she made room for me to pass through. So, I took this as an invitation to come in and I went inside. Golden followed me. I sat closer to the fire and I felt my body grow warm. I took my jacket off and warmed my palms by blowing air through them.

"Do you spend such lonely nights?" I asked jokingly and she did not respond, so I took it back. "Sorry, bad joke."

She looked at me silently. Then she bent and took the Pyrex dish to her kitchen and I hear her emptying it out. She came back with two bowls of mac 'n cheese. She set one next to me and she sat beside me. I gratefully smiled at her as I took the bowl and munched on it.

"Thanks," I said after I've had three spoonfuls. "Thanks for allowing me to share my dinner with you."

"Where's Bob?" she asked. I did not even know she knew my uncle's name. "He's your uncle, right?"

I smiled at her, overly relieved now that she's starting a conversation with me. "He's...he's in Mount Rainier National Park. Some kind of bird problem and he's been called up. He couldn't make it home tonight, so I spent it here with you."

"He doesn't know that you're spending your night with me, though," she replied bitterly. "Everybody thinks I'm some wacko living life alone."

I looked at her closely. The fires had made one side of her face glow like melted bronze as she turned to face me. I smiled at her. "Actually, everybody thinks you're more than a wacko. Everyone thinks you're a witch who feeds off on living people's life energy and that you're a Devil worshiper set to gather a thousand souls and stuff like that."

She looked out the fire and watched the flames dance. "Really?" she asked as if she couldn't believe it.

"You even made it to my school's paper," I joked. Well, it was a half-meant joke, actually. "You made it there more than once."

"I bet it got your paper more readers, hey?" she asked.

"Carly McLean," I shot out my hand to her, hoping that she'd take it. I really wished she would. For a moment, she was hesitant. But she took it anyways.

"Santana Lopez."

And then a small smile escaped from her lips, adorning it as the fires licked and danced across the shadows and contours of every wrinkle that adorned her beautiful face. God, she's beautiful when she smiles. Maybe it was a lot more beautiful, because it was a rare thing to see her smile.

We both settled into a comfortable silence. The only things that could be heard in the room was the cackling of fire, the clinking of the spoons when it hit the china, Golden's soft whimpering. A small thud told me that Santana was done eating her share of mac 'n cheese. Then there was silence.

She was looking at me.

"Why aren't you scared?" she asked, bemused, but still her lips tightly shut into a thin line. "Of me, of this woodland?"

I looked up at her. "At first, I was because of the rumors. But, when you helped me back then, I realized, what was there to be scared of? People just got you wrong. And it's not your fault."

She just sat there, staring aimlessly into the wall of her cabin. I kinda felt bad about people being judgmental about her, because boy, they were oh, so wrong. She just stared there, musing, maybe calculating something, maybe thinking about all those people on her walls. I kinda wanted to ask her, but I also had half the heart to disturb her. She looked so sad, but so beautiful at the same time. I didn't know people could be like that.

"You know, we had the times of our lives back then," she said silently. She was staring at the picture of her and her friends, I guess. She stood up, then, she took it off the wall and carried it back with her. She sat beside me and we sat by the fire.

"High school?" I asked and she nodded. There was that sad smile again. It started to ache in my chest, knowing I don't know what to do because I don't know anything about her.

"That curly haired man," she pointed at the person on the topmost left side. "That's Mr. Schuester. Will Schuester. He's my Spanish teacher back in Lima...he's really like a Dad or something to the thirteen of us," she motioned to the others in the photograph. Then she pointed to the ginger lady on the lower left. "She's Emma Pillsbury, my guidance counselor. Mr. Schue and she got married a year after I graduated. One hell of a love ride," she smiled sadly.

"That Asian man, he's Mike..." she pointed to Asian guy in blue. "And this is his girlfriend, Tina," Santana pointed at the girl in pink. "They broke up months after they graduated. This is Sam," she pointed to the guy with big lips standing next to Mike. "I should have hated him."

I threw her a confused look. "I used to date him before," she explained. "Back when I didn't know I was gay."

The silence hung in the air after she said the last word. I asked again, just to make sure I heard it right. "You were?"

"Yeah, I am gay," she stated. "So, Sam here picked up the girl's heart I broke. Her heart," she pointed to the girl who was hugging her. "She's Brittany."

I ran my fingers across her features. Brittany was sure a hot blonde. "She's beautiful."

"Yeah. She's all sun and rainbows and flying unicorns and happiness," she said sadly. "She's the light of my life, you know," she said sadly and I had a feeling she doesn't wanna talk about her – for now. So I randomly chose a face who's so apart from the two of them, hoping to take the topic away from her and Brittany.

"So who's this beaky-nosed girl?" I pointed at the smiling face who was wearing argyles.

She let out a relieved sigh. "Ah, that would be Rachel Berry," she closed her eyes as if she was recounting from her memory. "Always the diva, always the pack leader. She always wanted to have the spotlight, but she totally rocks it. She's the most innocent girl I've ever known. Sometimes, she's gullible enough...but she's fine."

"She looked familiar," I mumbled. She looked a lot familiar though, I can't really put my finger into.

"That would mean she's made it big in Broadway," Santana chuckled, a little wisp of pride in her rather sad voice. "You made it girl. You've made it," she sounded like she was talking to an old friend.

Right! Rachel Hudson! She's in the Spring Awakening poster Mel had hung in her room. She's totally a great singer, as what I have heard, but I never really listened to music, after all – let alone Broadway music.

"She's not Rachel Berry," I countered and she looked confused. "Her name is Rachel Hudson. She had died in a car crash two years ago."

A sad realization shone in her eyes and Santana looked back at the picture. She's looking at the giant with a lopsided smile on the top row. "That would be because of him," she said sadly with a loud sigh. "Funny how the two of them are together now."

"Hey," I scooted over to rub the back of her shoulder blades in hopes to comfort her. "It's fine if you don't want to talk anymore."

"No, I actually want to talk about this," she said silently, the tears pouring in her eyes. "It's been years, Carly. And frankly, I want to move on now."

So I sat there, listening to her talk about Finn Hudson – the man who was more than a better person than any of them. The true knight in shining armor. How Finn and Rachel had been so in love in high school and how his untimely death almost robbed the life out of them all – especially Rachel.

She pointed at the mohawked man after a lot of crying. "That's Puck," she said. "He died a year and a half after Finn died. He died in the war," she blew through her nose. "They both had different beliefs in God, but I really like to think at night that they're up there in Heaven, looking down on the thirteen of us, you know? Watching us close, ready to smack one of our heads if we all think of something dumb."

She pointed at the girl with pink wisps in her hair. "She's Quinn Fabray. Worst enemy I've had in high school," she sighed. "I remember her the day we fought in the hallways. She smacked me into those metal lockers," she chuckled. "And she was one of my best friends, too. Her first child, she had to give her away. Hey, she's probably your age now," she looked at me.

"Really?" I asked.

"Probably older," she replied, taking back what she had said. Then she stared hard at the picture. Clearly, she's trying to push back the tears away. "She's the strongest person I've known."

I pointed at Asian girl in pink. "This one?"

"She's Tina," she replied. "She's a Goth. I don't remember how we became friends, but I miss her all the same. And that black girl, she's Mercedes, same goes for her. This shiny guy here," she pointed to the guy next to Quinn.

"Kurt's probably the gayest person I knew," she smiled, and though it didn't quiet reach her eyes, it was a little happier than any smile she's had before. "But he really gets me, you know. He is Finn's stepbrother. When Finn died, he gave Finn's jacket to me. Too bad somebody took it," she leaned back to the wooden table. "Someone who wanted to keep something from Finn...something that might remind them of his existence...someone took it."

I sat there. I would have felt that way, given that Dad just left and I laid my hand on hers. "I know how it feels," I looked at her tearful eyes.

She leans back and points to the paraplegic guy. "He's Artie. He dated Brittany before we started dating. And this is Blaine, Kurt's boyfriend."

"Do you have any idea where they are now?" I asked tentatively.

"I don't know. When Finn and Puck died, and Dani died...I kind of shut down," she sighed loudly – loud enough that her sigh could've shaken and rattled the shutters across the whole cabin. "And I don't wanna see them again because it hurt too much...too much for my fragile heart!"

"Whose Dani?" I asked, although I am pretty familiar of the girl's face. I meant to ask her who Dani was in her life.

"Dani was my girlfriend a year after I and Brittany broke up," she said. "We were happy. Three months after Finn died, I couldn't take the lamenting with Rachel so I moved in with Dani. We were planning for a wedding on the beach...and then, one day, I was late from work and she went out to buy me dinner because I didn't read her dumb text message because I left my phone in my dumb waitress pocket, I forgot to pick up some dumb chicken pad Thai in some Thai diner and she got run over by a car driven by some drunk driver..." she rambled and I realized this wasn't her – this was the old her, the one closed off from the world, the one that blamed herself for the death of someone she had loved.

This was Old Moon-face Woman.

I stood up and took some water in a glass and I let her sit down as she heaved and cried. This wasn't the thing I was supposed to be dealing with, but I quickly put the glass near her mouth so she can drink. After a few gulps of water, she had calmed down.

"And now, Rachel's dead and I wasn't even there to be with her on her funeral, do you have any idea how terrible was I?" she growled and she broke into a fresh wave of tears.

"Look, Santana," I comforted her. "You were sad. You were hurting, no one can blame you for not being there," I started to rub circles on her back and her heaves and cries started to subside. After ten or fifteen minutes, she was drifting off to sleep on the wooden couch.

"Maybe, it's a story for another time, Santana," I mumbled as I took my sleeping bag from a pack under my jacket and rolled it on the floor. I banked the fire, then turned in myself.


	3. Chapter 3

When I woke up the from the night I spent with her, she had left a note above my head that she has gone and she won't be back later in the day. The Pyrex dish had been washed and Golden was already outside. I took them home, and Uncle Bob arrived at mid-morning.

That afternoon, I was chopping a few chunks of firewood for the fireplace and I saw her climb up the mountain. I looked up and smiled at her. I didn't dare to wave, for my uncle was just in the porch. Golden was licking the berries off his hands. Santana was looking at me, and I guess, she understood why I can't come back and have a talk with her.

She just nodded sorrowfully when I looked up to swat the beads of sweat that ran down my forehead. Santana looked at me with her sorrowful eyes. I guess she understands that I can't be there for her.

Melissa had immediately forgiven me when I apologized to her on Monday morning. She said it was okay and me losing my Dad sucked a lot, especially that my Mom walked out on me. Judy smiled at me with an understanding smile and they both held my hand and told me that they understand me.

I kinda felt bad about what they were saying, though. Why can't they understand Santana when they can understand me? Is it because she's acting different? If I would act like Santana, would Mel and Judy try to understand me, too?

So I asked. "If I would act like the way Santana's acting, would you try to understand me?"

Judy just looked at me in a weird way before she got dragged along by other cheerleaders and Mel was blubbering about what I was asking and then the next moment, she's yelling about how they'll see me at lunch and that they'll sit with me and told me to reserve the two tables near the hedge.

No one gave me an answer. So I just stood there. When the bell rang, I went into my first period class, thinking about Santana and how she had the worst of life right now. Mrs. Fuller, my English teacher told us to make a composition about someone who had touched our lives the most.

That night, I sat on my desk, thinking about Santana and her friends and Dani...and everyone in her picture. But when I handed the paper weeks later, it wasn't about Santana. It turned out to be Uncle Bob and how he works and how he loves organic things and how he's been the father I've had when I lost Dad.

The paper I've been writing about Santana still sat inside my drawer. I feel like she was my secret, her life was my secret...like her story was supposed to be for me and just me, only. I know I was being selfish – but I can't help it.

Uncle Bob didn't leave the cabin at nights and I never really had time to talk to Santana during the day. Tripping to Demon's Woodlands proved to be very difficult, especially when there's a blubbering Melissa and a wailing Judy who were constantly on my doorstep, inviting me to every party that comes around.

The summer passed. I still see Santana on the hill. But during the start of July, she wasn't that much seen anymore – or maybe because I started to fit in Melissa's clique. We always did things together. I still do my research on Santana's friends though.

I found out that Sam and Mike, they're serving the 28th Infantry Division of the U.S. Marines. Mercedes has died with coronary heart attack a year ago. Blaine and Kurt, they've been married, but they had divorced and Blaine was suffering from AIDS. Kurt had HIV. Tina, she's gone back to Korea after splitting with Mike. Quinn was alright – she's working as a private attorney. That must have been a comforting news to Santana. Brittany was well, she's suffering from mental degradation after pumping herself with drugs during her college years.

As I found out the news about Quinn, I was off to tell Santana the news when suddenly, Melissa was on my door, and before I even knew it, I was being dragged to a party across town. There, I met Jake Copeland.

"Hey, care to dance?" he asked and I said yes. I got drunk, got wasted...he took advantage on all of it.

I lost my virginity that night – to a guy who lived across the town and I never heard of after that night. I was seventeen. It must have been the same age Santana had lost her virginity. I cried that night as I trudged the way home and Rudy Barnes was there to comfort me.

After that, Rudy took me to places. He held my hand in the carnival. He rides with me in the Ferris wheel and I puked on him. He's kinda fine with it, though. He started to be my best friend and I was his best friend.

Then Fall came. Rudy asked me out during Fall Formals. We started dating. I never bothered to look up the hill, because I rarely see Santana coming up there anyways. Maybe she had her own life.

It was the afternoon of the nineteenth day of October when the florist and the town sheriff drove up our driveway. They quickly said to Uncle Bob that there's something up inside Demon's Woodland and I was inside my room, having a conversation with Rudy on the phone.

"Something's up," the florist said. "Something's up with my flower provider. Someone's tipped us she's lived in Demon's Woodland."

So that's how a search party threaded across the woods, and finally, they found Santana's place. The blinds were down, the fire was out. There was a hush over the house. She was sitting on the wooden chair in the living room and on her lap was the picture of her and her friends.

She's found dead.

She's closed her eyes and she's peacefully looking over the picture. A search was launched in her household, only to find a birth certificate that said Santana Lopez is just thirty-one years old and a diploma that said she had graduated in William McKinley High in the year of 2012.

I never said anything as they all looked through her things. They bore no interest on the books, or on the wooden furniture. The crowd that had gathered instantly dissipated when they found out that Santana wasn't murdered, nor there was something bizarre about her. Kim Fraser was there, and I angrily turned to her when she turned her back from the house to leave.

"So, are you going to write about how Santana Lopez had failed her quest for a thousand souls and how the Devil killed her?" I spat out.

She just scoffed and turned her heel away. The crowd had left, and only I and Golden were the last ones to leave. Uncle Bob looked at me, as if he knew it all. And he nodded. I needed to pay my last respects to the memory of one Santana Lopez.

I touched the teak wood desk, and ran my fingers on it. How many times had she cried here? The wooden couch – I remembered how she had bawled as she cried on the loss of her friends. She's a sad soul. And I'm pretty sure her soul is in heaven now, probably sitting with Finn and Mercedes and Rachel and Puck.

I looked at the shelves of books, and pulled out one of them. Nothing much, just something about death and stuff. I pulled the drawer off and I saw some letters - letters to be sent to her friends.

I did not open them. I put it back to the drawers and sighed. I curled up into a ball and I cried. Golden cuddled into me and I held on to him tight. I never got to know Santana Lopez after all. I didn't know how long I have cried but, all I can remember was Uncle Bob and Mel and Judy coaxing me to get up and the cold rain that soaked me to my skin as we all got out of the house during that cold night.

I did not dare to make another trip to the house after that fateful night if Santana's death. Sometimes, I look up the hill and I hoped I could see her sit under the huge oak, but she's not there. I also catch a lot of other people in town covertly looking up the hill, and then hanging their heads low. It seemed as if Old Creek Mill isn't Old Creek Mill without the old lady sitting on top of the hill.

Mel and Judy were understanding, even if I never said a word. I got closed off from everyone and I turned my attention to my books. Uncle Bob was understanding, too. And he let me wander off to the wilderness when I can't take the pain out of my chest. He kept a good distance away from me. Kim's disposition changed and she wouldn't even dare to look into my eyes whenever we meet in the hallways.

It's spring in Old Creek. I ran new searches about Santana's friends. I found out that Blaine is bedridden and there's no way he's healing and Kurt was looking after him, even if he was also ridden with the same illness Blaine had. Brittany had died the winter ago, just months after Santana died.

On my Graduation Day, our principal, Mr. Bodes announced that the 28th Infantry Division of the U.S. Marines had been attacked and bombed off the coast of Cuba, and he read off the list of the dead people. They read off Mike Chang and Sam Evans as one of the dead ones.

It's the second time I curled into a ball and cried. I cried under the bleachers until Judy and Mel came to help me up and Rudy just looked at me funny but he didn't say a word. He doesn't understand it, but he never said a word. He's been my boyfriend and he's really the best guy there is and he just holds me whenever I can't handle it all.

They all thought I cried because I am a chauvinist. I didn't. I cried for Sam Evans and Mike Chang. I cried for Puck, for Finn, for Rachel, for Mercedes, for Dani, for Santana...for Santana.

The third time I cried for Santana and her friends was when I was a freshman in Ohio State University, the second autumn Santana was gone. It was when Blaine died and Kurt got bedridden. I was at Blaine's funeral, but I was in the last rows. I saw Quinn Fabray, now Congresswoman Quinn Fabray, Representative to the Lower House of the State of Ohio. She was sitting next to Cooper Anderson, Blaine's brother and Burt Hummel, Kurt's father.

She was crying silently, ever so elegant, even in wiping her tears away. I guess she didn't know Santana had died almost two years ago. I visited William McKinley High for the first time, and I saw a copy of the 2012 Senior Class Yearbook.

There were pictures of Finn behind a drum set, Puck with Sam and they were holding guitars, a human cheering pyramid with Quinn, Brittany and Santana on the top, their skirts and cheer uniforms fluttering in the air. There was a picture of them in reds and blacks, winning the 2012 National Show Choir Competition in New York. William Schuester was smiling at them silently and Rachel was all teeth. Santana had covertly held her hands with Brittany's.

I went inside the Choir Room that they originally had. It was just a back room, nothing much. Trophies line in one place and a young man approached me. He was smiling warmly so I smiled back.

"Hey," he smiled. I smiled back. "Can I help you?"

I shook my head. "No. I was just...looking at things," my eyes wandered towards a hanging picture of Finn Hudson.

He shrugged. "No one really knew why it had to be there, I guess he's some kind of...teacher or something."

Kid had no clue. I studied his face. Nah, he's probably too young to know what happened inside this room twelve years ago. Quinn might have slapped this kid senselessly so that sense can come into him. "I happen to know something about him," I shrugged and eyed him sharply. "You're never going to be as great as him."

Then I left the room. I never came inside that Choir Room, ever again.

The fourth time I cried was when I was in my fourth and last year in college in Ohio State University. Kurt Hummel died. It was all in the TV, since he was known to be Quinn's dear friend. A few weeks after, I found out that Tina died due to breast cancer in a hospital in Korea.

I went for a trip in the University archives and found a piece of news that Artie had died in a car crash some years ago. I sighed. Mr. Schue and his family has no whereabouts. I sighed. Maybe they're ought to be forgotten. Or maybe spared from the pain of the reality.

I went home during the summer after I graduated. And Rudy and I went well after that. It wasn't until two years after I graduated from college and worked as a high school Biology teacher in Old Creek High when I cried for them again. Rudy worked as the park ranger and he just held me close when he walked in on me crying in front of the TV.

Quinn Fabray had a heart attack while they were holding a session in the House of Senate. They loaded her on a gurney and wheeled her out of the session room. An hour after, her secretary announced that she had left and she's resting in peace.

A small wind knocked at our door and blew through Demon's Woodland. I sighed. Maybe it's Quinn's spirit. By now, Rudy understood who Santana was and who Quinn Fabray and everyone else was.

I cried not long after that. I cried when Rudy proposed. Two years after, I cried when little Santana Danielle Barnes came into our lives. She grew up to be a good girl. She was loving to her parents, and to her friends. As the older Santana would have put it, my little Santana was all sun and flying unicorns and rainbows and happiness.

She's all legs and teeth, too, now that she's already ten. I'm already thirty-eight. Santana Lopez would have been fifty by now. My little Santana and I were having mac 'n cheese on the counter of the cabin when a strong gust of wind came across our house and it moved towards Demon's Woodland.

She looked up at me, fear etched across her face. "Mom," she called. "Is that the wind that took the living energy we living people have? They say that nights like these, Old Moon-face Woman roams the town, collecting souls."

I smiled understandingly. Teens and their imaginations. "No, honey. It's just the wind."

She looked out into the dark. "But they said there's a haunted house out there, in the middle of Demon's Woodland."

"There's no such thing," I shrugged. "Go to sleep now."

She smiled and let me tuck her in. When I looked out into the dark, I could see the lights of the house in the middle of Demon's Woodland flicker and then I thought of Santana sitting beside Dani, Brittany next to Sam and his guitar harmonizing with Puck's guitar, Rachel in the middle of the room, Finn behind the drum set, Mike and Tina cuddling each other, Quinn sitting between Brittany and Santana, Blaine and Kurt on the floor and Artie, wheeling around. Mr. Schue, proudly watching them from a corner.

I heard the music flutter into the air, as if the melodies were carried by the hush of the crisp of the autumnal November wind. The light flickered, then it was covered in mist. The air tore through Demon's Woodland, and it howled off into the distance, the trees swaying against it as it hit the treetops, and out into the dark, where it disappears.

But the music went on...

_don't stop, believing..._

_hold on to that feeling..._

They were all singing.


End file.
